


through me like rain

by Joanne_Barcia



Category: Bones (TV)
Genre: AU Season 10, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-07 22:01:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3184757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joanne_Barcia/pseuds/Joanne_Barcia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The last thing you see before your eyes slip shut is their faces, and all at once, you're exhausted, terrified – and grateful."</p>
            </blockquote>





	through me like rain

**Author's Note:**

> Originally on FF.net. A few things:  
> 1\. I wrote this little oneshot to take place at the end of the premiere. If you want to stay within the show's canon, stop at the break. If you want something happier, go on.  
> 2\. I accidentally forgot Daisy existed when I wrote this, but I don't really want to change it. Sorry haha.  
> 3\. Best read with the American Beauty theme instrumentals playing in the background. Just search it on Youtube.  
> 4\. I love reviews and you all should leave me some. :) Enjoy!

* * *

  
_"I guess I could be pretty pissed off about what happened to me. But it's hard to stay mad when there's so much beauty in the world. Sometimes I feel like I'm seeing it all at once, and it's too much. My heart fills up like a balloon that's about to burst. And then I remember to relax, and stop trying to hold on to it; and then it flows through me like rain and I can't feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life."_

_― American Beauty (1999)_

* * *

When you fall asleep, the last thing you see is their faces. But you almost wish it wasn't; because God, she's _crying_ – and you've never seen her cry before. For all the time you've known her, you've seen her happy, sad, laughing, angry, relieved and worried and nearly every emotion in between, but you've never seen her cry. The sight of it just breaks your heart, it does, and you just wish she'd stop. You think, she wasn't meant to cry. It's wrong.

And then you glance over at him, his red-rimmed eyes and shining cheeks and suddenly you decide that if it's wrong for her to cry, it's even worse, far more alien and strange, that he is. God, he – if you could beg him to stop crying, beg the both of them to please just smile, you would. You'd beg and beg and beg because despair isn't a color that works on them and you're suddenly terrified. Because they're crying, for God's sake, and she's gently carding her fingers through your hair and he's got his hands on your chest, firm and hard, as if he could hold you in place forever – and what does all that say about you?

You think that perhaps you ought to say something – which is hard, because there are so many things you could pick to tell them, an entire collection of things you've never said, and you can feel time slipping out from underneath you so you'd better say something quickly. You settle for a blanket statement about the world, and you say it's wonderful; because, in spite of all the curveballs it's thrown your way, you truly think that. You do. And of course, they must know that already, you're sure, but there's something else about this wonderful world that you've got to get out, something else you've got to say –

But something pulls you under before you can get the words out, before you can let them know that it's not ending anytime soon. The last thing you see before your eyes slip shut is their faces, and all at once, you're exhausted, terrified – and grateful.

* * *

When you wake up, the first thing you see is their faces. They're not crying anymore, thank God – but you think they might be trying to say something to you, the way their mouths are moving so quickly. You can't really hear them; not over the shrieking alarms and the rush of people moving around him like wind, at least, but you wish you could. You're always interested in what they have to say, and you wonder what they think of all this noise and bustling energy. You might have asked them, if you could find your mouth to form the words. And besides that, they've disappeared. The gloved hands that swim above you are far less familiar than those two worried faces, and the mask they shove on you is far less comfortable than the open air on your skin. It doesn't much matter, to be honest. You're dead asleep again before you can muster the energy to be annoyed about it.

When you wake up the second time, you see them again. She's not crying, but he is – and you have no idea what that means. The mask is gone from your face and there's no more noise, save for the gentle three-part rhythm of their breathing and yours. It's perfectly silent and still until he rubs his tired eyes and says to you with a rough, broken voice, "Forgot how to breathe, huh?" And the two of them smile at you with this tired, half-hearted smile, and you try your very best to return it. You think these might be the happiest moments of your life, these first few waking moments after it was almost stolen from you. You think, someone must have returned it – and you're suddenly so unspeakably grateful, you can't help the hot tears that run down your face. You'll have to thank them someday.


End file.
